


before the count of ten

by milosdinosaur



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Families of Choice, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milosdinosaur/pseuds/milosdinosaur
Summary: “Jean? Are you alright?”She’s still for a few moments, hoping that he’ll think she’s asleep and leave her alone. It doesn’t work, of course. He can read minds, just like she can.The Professor lets himself into her room. He hears her sniffling and it makes him feel sad.Quiet,she hisses at the knowledge that comes from nowhere. She wishes it would stop. She wishes it never started.
Relationships: Jean Grey & Charles Xavier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30
Collections: X-Men Rare Pairs 2020





	1. plasticine bob-men

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [InsertSthMeaningful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful) in the [xmenrarepairs20](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmenrarepairs20) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Charles once told Jean he could fix anything she would ever break.  
> Well, good luck with putting back together that smashed flower vase, Charles. 
> 
> (just some father-daughter content pls :3<)

There were voices ringing in Jean’s ears. No one had told her that her mother was dead but she _knew._ Laying among the shattered glass, Jean felt her father’s pain and panic compound into a white, scalding flash. It was horrible, kernels of agony exploding in her mind. But she would rather experience that a hundred more times, than be forced to sense her mother losing consciousness as life slowly bled out of her.

In the darkness of her new room, Jean clamps her hands over her ears and cries. She’s so upset it takes her a moment to notice the quiet knock on her door. 

“Jean? Are you alright?” 

She’s still for a few moments, hoping that he’ll think she’s asleep and leave her alone. It doesn’t work, of course. He can read minds, just like she can. 

The Professor lets himself into her room. He hears her sniffling and it makes him feel sad. _Quiet,_ she hisses at the knowledge that comes from nowhere. She wishes it would stop. She wishes it never started. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks gently. 

Jean is silent.

“I may have something for that, if you want” he continues, extending a hand towards her. 

Jean looks at it for a few moments before slowly reaching out. 

They walk for a long time, tiles cool beneath her feet. The place is huge, nothing like any school Jean has seen before. With ivy tendrils winding up the walls, the creaky metal gate and the delicate marble fountain, it almost seems like a painting - too nice for someone like her.

His hand is still in hers when they enter the kitchen. Hot milk, cocoa, sugar - sometimes the simplest things are the best. It’s dark and rich but best of all, the Professor lets her add as many marshmallows as she wants to. It looks delicious, the kind served in cafes her parents only took her to for special occasions. 

For some moments, she just wraps her hands around the ceramic mug, letting the warmth flow through her fingers. She watches small curls of steam rise into the air.

She barely notices it at first. The crack is small - hardly the length of a hairpin. Her fingers rest on the anomaly, none the wiser. The cocoa is soothing, if a bit hot, it coats her tongue thickly before flowing down her throat. Even better is the presence of the Professor, his mind a steady, quiet hum amid the messy thoughts in her head. 

She spots it eventually, running her fingers over the uneven surface to see if the crack goes all the way through. Not likely. The Professor seems nice. Jean doesn’t think he would have given her the cup to use if he thought she’d get hurt using it. It’s comforting, the little imperfection. It makes her feel less alone. 

Before she can take a second sip, the crack expands. It spreads like a dark spider web, shooting out over the area under her palm. Jean jerks her hand back, horrified. 

“It’s no trouble,” the Professor says. He takes her hand and squeezes gently. “Let’s make another cup.” 

The Professor lets her do the washing up after they’re done. Jean can tell he doesn’t need her to, but she feels guilty and wants to make up for it. Doing the dishes isn’t much, but it makes her feel helpful. The Professor waits patiently for her as she stands at the sink (she doesn’t need to tiptoe to reach it here, which is nice).

Once she’s finished, he smiles kindly and thanks her. The brush of warm affection against her mind feels like an embrace.

The next day, she wakes up, blinking blearily before rubbing her eyes and taking a better look at the unfamiliar shape resting on her desk. A ceramic mug, as good as new. 

Jean smiles. 


	2. when dolls still dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles' heart aches for Jean Grey before he even meets her. 
> 
> It’s a horrible thing, to lie to a child. But worse, to grow up knowing you were unwanted. 
> 
> _You will grow up loved,_ he promises Jean silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't write a fic about dad Charles without exploring his psyche, especially when it comes to his desire to be a parental figure to Jean, and the lengths he's willing to go to, to shield her from hurt. A bit angsty.

Charles’ heart aches for Jean Grey before he even meets her. 

It’s a horrible thing, to lie to a child. But worse, to grow up knowing you were unwanted.

He tries to imagine telling Jean that her father turned his back on her. She too had been denied compassion, affection and guidance all the things he wished — still wishes that — his parents had given him. 

Charles weaves a story for Jean.

(“You’re a freak.”

Charles knows that Cain’s jealousy is fuelling his hostility, but it doesn’t stop the sting that comes every time the insult is lobbed at him.

He tries again and again and again, until the simple truth is seared into his memory: he’s nothing more than the vintage vase that‘s on display in their sitting room. To be admired, not loved.

Charles learns.

He hides when he hears Cain’s heavy footsteps. The study is his step-father’s territory. He stops going up to his mother, hoping for scraps of affection.

When he’s 9, he starts hearing voices.

He can't hear his mother's drunken slurs, but he can _hear_ her. He picks up the belittling thoughts Kurt all but sneers at him. _You’re broken_ , he realises as he tries vainly to cover his ears.

Charles is 12 when he meets Raven. 

The concept seems foreign to him, for someone so young to have to fend for herself. Then, he thinks about his mother and her absence in his life. Her aloofness. Distance that’s more than physical. Perhaps it’s not that foreign after all. 

“You never have to steal again,” he vows, and is rewarded with a blinding smile. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel alone. He is needed. 

Her mutation is wonderful, he looks in awe as she changes between all sorts of shapes and sizes. Sheets of paper brimming with crude drawings of her blue skin and auburn hair were frequent sights on his desk. He didn’t worry about his parents finding them. They never came into his room anyway. 

That’s the way it’s always been, but the knowledge burns nonetheless. 

The best thing about Raven, though, is her mind. She was always happy to see him, a respite from the otherwise hostile minds.)

He tries his best to project an aura of calm, but Jean’s mind is a storm of fear and anger. 

Nightmares again. Her face is wet. Flashes of the dream are leaking out from her mind. An inferno of terror is sweeping through the other children, and Charles does his best to soothe their startled minds and quiet their anguished cries. 

Charles knows what he has to do. He enters Jean’s mind carefully, all the while entertaining her with tales of beautiful girls with wings and boys who could conjure energy. There’s a chaotic, angry mix of red, purple and white hovering on the edge of her consciousness, threatening to devour her calm rationality. To have that kind of force trapped inside a _child_. It’s unthinkable. 

Tendril by tendril, Charles detaches the volatile, trashing mass of power and buries it in the farthest corner of Jean’s mind. At once caging her and setting her free. 

He imagines (his mother telling him to _get out, Charles_ ) Jean lounging on the sofa in his office, buried in a book. The two of them sitting in comfortable silence while he marks papers or plans lessons. Jean playing in the green expanse in front of the mansion, holding her hand as they amble around the grounds. 

He leaves her mind as carefully as possible. It’s unblemished, untouched by the pain of neglect and rejection - something that should be preserved and protected. 

_You will grow up loved_ , he promises Jean silently.

“Jean, I am so sorry.” 

She looks at him, tilting her head slightly. 

“I,” he pauses, the words stuck in his throat, “can’t think of an ending to the story. Will you help me?”

“I’d like a happy ending,” she states simply. She gives him a wide smile, warm and trusting. Charles wants to look away, unable to meet her eyes, but he can’t. He mustn’t. 

“We’ll have one,” Charles assures her. He hopes he isn’t lying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proud member of the Charles Xavier defence team.
> 
> There will most likely be more fluff to come. I'd hate to end this on such a sad note :(


End file.
